


And I Could Hear the Thunder

by allwaswell16



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Eventual Smut, Family Secrets, Gardens, M/M, Meaning some of their family members, Mystery, Neighbors, Nobility, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Supernatural Elements, Their family members are original characters though, Visions, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/pseuds/allwaswell16
Summary: He can still see small bits of the glass panes through the leaves and moss. He walks slowly toward it until he can press his palm against a pane of the glass. He closes his eyes involuntarily as he touches the cool surface with his fingers. He sways a bit as though closing his eyes has made him dizzy. He quickly opens them and snatches his hand back from the glass wall. An odd feeling rushes through him, and he backs away, stumbling into a tree in his haste. He doesn’t really watch where he’s walking towards, just heads directly out of the trees. As he reaches the edge of the thicket, he glances up and sees the large manor house beyond. He’s clearly come out on the opposite side from whence he went in. He stares at it for a long moment and can almost hear the childish voices that used to ring out in this place. It looks the same, and yet, it feels so different now. It’s foreboding in its austerity, and he knows that isn’t the feeling it once held for him. He frowns and tries to hold on to his vague remembrance of what it felt like to him in the past, when something catches his eye.Or Harry prepares to inherit his family's estate, and Louis is the mysterious boy living in the manor to the north.





	And I Could Hear the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyLondonderry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/gifts).



> This fic is being written for my dear friend Emily! Happy birthday, Emmu! <3 <3 I'm not sure what in the world I have created here, but I blame you. 
> 
> This fic is a WIP, but it does have an outline going for it. So it shall be completed at some point in the future and updated as often as I can get back to it whilst completing fics that have deadlines. More tags will be added as I go. I rated it as mature as at some point there will be smut, and the fic may eventually have an explicit rating. So please keep that in mind. 
> 
> The fic takes place in the past, early 19th century timeframe, but the settings are of my own creation. I've also chosen to portray all their family members as original characters, although most of them do not have large roles in the fic.
> 
> The title is from the song "Blinding" by Florence + The Machine.

Harry Styles finds himself at the edge of his family’s property, gazing out over the heathered moors and into the distance. It’s been many years since his boots have sunk into the water-logged soil of the Dunwich Estate. He has only the vaguest memories of this place, but as he looks out at the vastness of the neighbouring estate, he thinks he remembers a boy.

Pieces of thoughts and quick visions flash through his mind. He remembers a bright laugh and a pair of mischievous blue eyes. He remembers running breathlessly through a large manor house and hiding amidst the foliage of an indoor garden. His childish memories begin to awaken as he realises the garden that visits him in his dreams must be in the same glasshouse one he now remembers belonging to his neighbours.

Happiness lived here. His heart sinks under the weight of his remembrance of the feeling. It’s been a very long time since Harry has felt it. It seems as foreign as this place is to him now after living for so long abroad in the dry heat of Nusber.

If they had stayed, if his father’s ambitions hadn’t led their family to leave this place for the ambassadorship, would he have remained happy here? Or had he always been destined for loneliness? He imagines he would still have been an afterthought to his family even if they’d stayed.

He shivers as a cold wind from the north cuts straight through to his bones. The chill surprises him as it’s still early autumn, but he supposes this is something he shall have to adapt to especially as the winter months grow closer. The thin cotton of his clothing will have to be exchanged for warmer garments sooner than he’d expected. He begins to hurry along the edges of the property back towards his family’s large country house.

A small thought creeps through to the surface and makes him pause. If they had stayed, he would still have the boy. He struggles to remember more of him and turns to look back toward the neighbouring estate.

That’s when he sees it. A glint of light radiates out from an odd area of overgrowth to the east. He squints his eyes and sees it again. It’s as though someone is shining a mirror out of the low trees or maybe just a bit of sunlight reflecting off glass. He turns back towards the house. As the elevation climbs he takes another look behind him, and he can see the manor house of his memories in the distance just beyond the trees. He stares at it for a few moments before he trudges back to his uncle’s house--no, _his_ house.

He should start thinking of it this way. _His_ house. _His_ land. In a few short months he’ll be of age and responsible for it all. His boots feel weighted with lead as he makes his way back towards the odd stillness of a house that he doesn’t remember as his home.

*

When dawn breaks, the light finds a lone figure stood outside. Harry stands near the corner of the house, his boots wet with morning dew. He’s wearing an ill fitting coat of his uncle’s, which he’ll have to wear until he finds time to restock his own wardrobe.

He has slept only fitfully, his recurring dream of a beautiful woman beckoning to him in his slumber has become much more vivid now that he's here. There’s something so familiar about her that he can never quite understand. He sees the long, brown waves of her hair floating around her shoulders and down her back, her face somewhat obscured by the blinding light shining from behind her. She’s asking something from him, but he doesn’t know what. The dream has been with him for as long as he can remember. It still leaves him gasping and filled with longing to escape with her. When he wakes, he finally breaks free from the confines of the house to watch the sun rise.

Harry is used to being alone with his thoughts.

The grand house in Nusber was open to only a select few whom his father deemed worthy of admittance. Visiting dignitaries, nobles passing through, Harry’s tutors. How Harry had longed to be allowed to attend a local school with boys his own age, but his father would hear none of it. Oh, no, Harry had to learn his place in the world. Harry always wondered what it was he was supposed to be learning about his _place_ when he was stuck here in the far away regions of the empire and no where near the land that was his birthright. The only thing Harry could figure was that he was supposed to be learning to look down on nearly everyone as his inferior and toady to the rest.

He mostly kept to himself. Out of sight, out of mind to his father, but he was brought round for help with hosting duties for any events in the king’s name. Harry always had the distinct impression his parents trotted him out as a trophy they owned, and then, they’d shut him up in the cupboard until the next time they wanted others to admire their pretty son.

Harry knows what he looks like to others. He knows when others admire his handsome face and his shiny curls and his unusual green eyes. People are always pointing it out as if he didn’t know the odd colours of his own eyes. When he looks at himself, he sees the gauntness of his features and the narrow lines of his body, but others seem to see something more. He sees the frankly sexual glances thrown his way by the daring, and the blushing simpers of the less forward. There has been his fair share of both sons and daughters of his parents’ guests trying to sneak into his bed after the house has gone to sleep. Harry always kept his door firmly locked, opening it only for the maids in the morning. Harry might have been isolated, but he’s always had the feeling that the brief affections of a visitor would just increase his feelings of loneliness.

As the sun begins to filter over the land, purpled with the heather that feeds their sheep, Harry is very drawn to the place where he remembers the boy. He heads off in that direction and walks the property lines of his family’s estate until he again sees the oddly overgrown area he noticed yesterday. He walks nearer, his feet so drawn to the place he had previously only remembered as a dream.

The closer he grows to the copse of trees, the more familiar the place feels. His boots fall more surely as he enters the small thicket. He knows he’s trespassing a bit, but it’s not as if he’s a complete stranger. It’s neighboring land after all. He could always claim he’d gotten lost. He’s drawn further and further through the trees as his heart begins thumping a bit strangely in his chest. It’s as though his muscles remember how to bring him to a very specific spot if he’ll just trust them to take him there.

And then, suddenly, he sees it. The underbrush has grown up and around it, but it’s there. He can still see small bits of the glass panes through the leaves and moss. He walks slowly toward it until he can press his palm against a pane of the glass. He closes his eyes involuntarily as he touches the cool surface with his fingers. He sways a bit as though closing his eyes has made him dizzy. He quickly opens them and snatches his hand back from the glass wall. An odd feeling rushes through him, and he backs away, stumbling into a tree in his haste. He doesn’t really watch where he’s walking towards, just heads directly out of the trees.

As he reaches the edge of the thicket, he glances up and sees the large manor house beyond. He’s clearly come out on the opposite side from whence he went in. He stares at it for a long moment and can almost hear the childish voices that used to ring out in this place. It looks the same, and yet, it feels so different now. It’s foreboding in its austerity, and he knows that isn’t the feeling it once held for him. He frowns and tries to hold on to his vague remembrance of what it felt like to him in the past, when something catches his eye.

There’s a flutter of movement in the far eastern window. He sees the drapes continue their movement as though someone had just been looking out at him and then hidden themselves. He waits for a few minutes for their return or for someone to come out to see what he’s doing on their land, but no one arrives.

He takes a deep breath and heads back to his uncle’s-- _his_ \--home.

*

Breakfast is a quiet affair. He still feels like he’s back in Nusber where he’s to be seen and not heard. His uncle reads a newspaper as he carefully eats a boiled egg and never meets his eye. Harry sighs and eats nearly everything the servants bring out on trays. He was never this hungry in Nusber, and he’s not sure what to attribute to this change in appetite. Perhaps, it’s all the exercise he’s had roaming the grounds.

He listens to the ticking of the large clock in the corner of the room and wishes he didn’t still feel like a boy waiting to be dismissed. Maybe he still is a bit of a boy. He glances at the carpets and sees where he’s tracked dirt in across the floor. No one says a word about it, however.

He startles when he hears his uncle’s tea cup rattle on the small dish, and he looks up to see his uncle watching him. It feels like it might be the right time to speak.

“Ehm--so when should we begin looking over the books?”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“The books?” His uncle bristles. “I keep fine ledgers of all our expenses and profits. You’ve got nothing to worry about with the recordkeeping of this estate, boy.”

Harry clears his throat. “I did not mean to imply there was anything amiss with them. Just that perhaps that’s where we should begin my study of the estate. Also, I’d rather you didn’t refer to me as ‘boy’ as I’ll be the rightful master of this place in--”

“Four months. I know.” His uncle answers with a bit of a sour look on his face. “I know you shall soon be lord and master of this estate, young Harry.”

Harry isn’t sure he likes ‘young Harry’ much better than ‘boy.’ Although it might be a bit odd to call him Lord Styles. Just the thought of that causes a queasy feeling in his gut. Lord Styles has always been his father. Maybe he’d rather just be ‘Harry.’ Maybe he doesn’t really have much of a choice.

“I walked part of the property again this morning, and I--”

“I noticed.” His uncle replies looking pointedly at the tracks on the carpets.

Harry flushes, but he pushes on. “Our neighbours to the north--I think I remember them from when I was a boy.”

His uncle gives him a sharp look. “The Tomlinson’s keep to themselves now.”

“Tomlinson.” Harry repeats. The murmur of it rolls off his tongue and twists through his mind.

Harry spends the rest of the day exploring the house. He roams from room to room hoping to spark something in his mind. He finds it greatly disturbing that he remembers so little of the house he spent seven years living in. The grounds and the neighbouring estate hold far more of his memories and interest. It’s a bit--odd.

The following day he decides to ride into Tunsleade. Perhaps, he should give his uncle a bit more time to become used to his now permanent presence. After all, he does still have four months to learn the ins and outs of the estate.

He finds the tailor’s shop easily enough, although he certainly doesn’t go unnoticed here. Nearly every head turned as he found his way. Perhaps, he should have asked the tailor to come to the house. With a sigh, he ties up his horse and enters the shop.

It’s certainly much smaller than one you’d find in the capitol. It reminds him a bit of the one is Nusber. A few samples stand tall near the window, and Harry seats himself on one of the few chairs in the room. Harry glances at the wall lined with shelves holding orders and hats on stands and various threads and jars of shirt studs. A small man comes through from the back room from which Harry gets a brief look at bolts of linen and wool.

The man bows and says, “My lord. May I assist you with something?”

This surprises Harry as it seems the man knows who he is. “Yes. I need a coat and probably whatever else you think I might need for the coming months. I’ve just returned home from the outer colonies after many years, and I’ve found my clothing isn’t appropriate for the weather here.”

“Of course, Lord Styles.” The man nods and gathers a small ring of fabric samples for Harry to look through.

Apparently, the man _does_ know who he is. It strikes Harry as very odd seeing as how he hasn’t lived here for the last decade, and the last time anyone here has seen him, he was but a small boy. Word travels fast in the country. Harry touches each fabric square, seemingly all of them made of somber colours of greys and blues, browns and blacks.

The tailor fits Harry for coats and waistcoats and linen shirts, carefully measuring Harry’s body as he stands before him. Harry’s mind drifts back to the neighbouring estate that for now, still holds his attention more than his own estate-- _the Tomlinsons_.  

Strawnford.

The word suddenly screams through his head as though it can hardly believe it had ever been forgotten. Strawnford is the name of the Tomlinson’s estate. He sways for a moment on his feet as his recurring dream from the night before flashes through him almost as though it’s being played before his eyes. The tailor tries to right him, and Harry’s breathing comes hard and fast as he braces himself on the nearby chair.

This was the first time.

*

Harry is so exhausted from days of sleeplessness and odd dreams that he actually has a peaceful night of it. A long, visionless sleep. He wakes up feeling ready to challenge his uncle on a few of his concerns. Namely, why there isn’t a land agent for an estate of their size. Had his father intended to keep his uncle on as one for the foreseeable future? Even though his uncle has been acting in his father’s place for nigh on ten years?  

His uncle reluctantly begins to talk to him about the income garnered from the estate: the tenants, the village, their own grazing pastures. When Harry asks to see the estate map, his uncle pauses and stares at him for a moment as if trying to assess something. He walks over to a desk, which he unlocks and pulls forth a long map that he unfurls onto the surface of the table. Harry gapes at the size of it. He’d thought he’d been walking the perimeter of the grounds, but it appears he’s just been walking the fenced areas. He feels a bit foolish particularly when he thinks that he never saw the tenant farms which appear to all be on the south side of the estate. He’d been much more concerned with the northern part of the estate bordered by Strawnford.

He’s just about to ask more questions about the Tomlinsons and Strawnford, when he notices some odd markings on the map. His uncle has a queer look on his face when Harry asks about them.

“Well, that’s the abandoned mine there to the east.”

“It looks as if it’s on both our property and the Tomlinsons’.”

“Yes, well. That’s because it is. Your father and Sir Tomlinson ran the mine together and split the profits, when we were still using it as a mine of course.”

“Why did they stop?”

His uncle pauses. “I don’t know.”

Harry doesn’t believe him. He stares at that part of the map as his uncle carries on about the soil and the heather and all the improvements he’s instigated, subtly implying he’s brought the estate back from the brink. This Harry does believe, knowing his father as he did. Estate management was most likely not one of his skills. Instead of focusing on his uncle’s achievements, his eyes continue to stray back to the mine.

*

Rain falls and pelts the house relentlessly all afternoon, keeping him from investigating any further. He watches it through the library windows as he tries to read, but his eyes are continually drawn to the windows. He gives in and just watches as the world washes away its sins.

*

That night, she comes to him again. The vision moves more quickly than it ever has, in flashing moments of movement. She’s less in shadows, and he would be able to see her face more clearly if the movements weren’t so startling. The bright white light still blinds him. She’s still beckoning to him, but she grows closer than she ever has before, and his heart beats in triple time. She’s speaking, but he can’t make out what she’s saying. He wants to cover his ears with the sound of violent winds whirring through them. His head is spinning, and his stomach turns. He doesn’t know what to do, and for the first time he reaches for her in desperation. As soon as his fingers reach out for hers, he’s thrown back. He awakens, dripping in sweat and gasping for breath.

His uncle has plans in Tunsleade today, both to visit and for estate business, but Harry pleads to feeling a bit under the weather and declines the offer to accompany him. And whilst he does feel a bit hazy from his vivid dreams, he is determined to make at least a cursory inspection of the mine.

As he rides along the northern border of the grounds towards the mine, he must pass by the copse of trees leading to Strawnford Manor. He knows the glasshouse is there now, and he’s still very curious as to why it’s been left neglected. Before he even realises he’s done so, he has dismounted and headed into the overgrowth. He heads straight past where he’d seen the glasshouse until he’s standing in front of the manor house again. Maybe it’s not the glasshouse that’s been drawing him here.

The last time he was here he hadn’t noticed how the manor had an air of abandonment as well. Not neglect, as it all looks well cared for, but more like an eerie stillness. He stares at the window that before had held the promise of a person in the house, but he sees no movement this time. He sighs and feels a strange sense of disappointment before he turns to head back towards his horse. An odd prickle of sensation skips up his spine and neck, and he whirls around back towards the house.

The one watching him isn’t so fast this time. Harry stares up at the face in the window who seems surprised to have been caught. He only gets a brief glimpse before the drapes swing back, blocking his view, but what he sees makes his breath catch in his throat. Wide eyes, a pale face, striking cheekbones, and a shock of hair the colour of chestnuts. Harry staggers backwards, just catching himself before he falls.

It’s the boy.

It takes all of Harry’s willpower to walk back to his horse. He has the strongest urge to rush to the house and demand the boy come out. _The boy._ He still looks a bit like a boy, but he must be at least the same age as Harry now. He looks back once more before he heads off again towards the edge of the grounds.

The terrain of the land still remains unfamiliar to Harry. He’s not sure what he expects to see when he reaches the area surrounding the mine, but he figures he’ll know when he sees it. As soon as he draws near, his fingers and hands begin to throb in the most unnerving way. He hops down and warily walks towards the abandoned grey structures. When he reaches them, he notices the stone terraced into a path, weaving its way down a hillside still scattered with slate from the mines. He carefully walks down, down, down until he finds the entrance. It’s much smaller than he imagined and whilst his curiosity draws him forward, something else seems to be pushing him back. It almost feels as if the air has grown too thick to breathe, cautioning him to leave. He decides to heed the warning, at least for now.

He cautiously makes his way back to his horse and rides back along the northern border, hoping for another look at Strawnford and maybe even another glimpse of the boy. He knows he should try to formally reintroduce himself, but he hasn’t brought up the topic with his uncle yet as he seems so reluctant to speak of the Tomlinsons.

As he nears the copse he can already feel the presence of something that tempts him ever nearer. He was just going to ride by, he’s told himself, and yet, here he is dismounting and headed through the trees. This time, he does stop to examine the glasshouse. The dirty windows reveal little to him, but he presses his palm to the glass again for a reason he couldn’t explain if someone were to ask.

He takes his time carefully walking in the direction of the house and when he reaches the edge of the trees, he stops and stares up at the window. Waiting. Hoping. Longing.

The magnetism he felt towards the house feels changed somehow as if the force of it has changed position, almost as if he’s being lured back towards the garden.

“Why are you here?”

Harry gasps at the reedy voice that sounds as if it’s used but rarely. He whirls towards the sound of it. At the edge of the trees is a curved, wooden bench Harry hadn’t noticed before, and there sitting atop it is the boy from the window.

The boy is older than he’d appeared from far away, as least as old as Harry. What the window hadn’t revealed was the boy’s eyes, glittering like blue jewels even in the overcast light of the day. They’re so large and mesmerising in the striking lines of his face. They flash an emotion that Harry can’t name, but he senses it’s something like interest.

“I--ehm--hello.” It’s all Harry can manage to push out from his lips.

The boy raises an eyebrow, and the very smallest hint of a smile curves on his lips. The boy is so beautiful, the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen. A thousand wild ideas take hold in Harry’s mind. He wants to rush to him and lay his head in his lap. He wants to swing him into his arms and carry him away from here. He wants to care for him and make sure he’s properly nourished so that the slashes of bones in his face might be slightly less pronounced. He wants to shower him with every gift that money can buy. He wants to--

“You didn’t answer my question.” Delicate fingers brush a few strands of hair out of the way of his eyes.

“What--ehm--” Harry clears his throat. “What was the question again?”

“I asked you why you are here.”

Harry balls his fists at his side, willing them to stay and not reach out towards the boy possessively.

“I was just--riding by and--”

The boy interrupts. “You weren’t riding the other day.”

Harry feels his cheeks heat a bit at being called out like this. “Well, I thought you--er--meant today. Not in general. In general terms I have come by because I’m--ehm--I live nearby. At Dunwich. So I’ve been going about the property and keep--uhm--finding myself--here.”

“Well, that was certainly some kind of answer there.” The small smile has returned to the boy’s lips, but Harry notices how wan he appears, how frail.

Harry’s not sure when his feet carried him so near to the boy, but he finds he’s now standing directly in front of him, the boy craning his neck to look at him. Later, he’ll realise how odd it is that the boy never stands to greet him, but for now all he can think is that he wants to sit beside him.

All the new, fervent wishes of Harry’s heart threaten to spring forth from his lips, but somehow he manages to think through the first step to fulfilling them. A name. He needs a name.

“I’m Harry, Lord Styles. Lately of Nusber, now of Dunwich.”

Harry holds out a gloved hand as the boy looks up at him, eyes wide. The boy tentatively slips his hand into Harry’s.

“Louis.”

_Louis._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked the fic so far, please leave kudos and/or a comment! And I shall love you forever for [reblogging this fic post.](http://allwaswell16.tumblr.com/post/162938370021/and-i-could-hear-the-thunder-by-allwaswell16-for) I promise to someday finish it! I have an excellent track record of finishing my fics! lol. 
> 
> Thank you to my long suffering beta [taggiecb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taggiecb/pseuds/taggiecb) for always holding my hand <3 <3 and [Sus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lululawrence/pseuds/lululawrence) for reading it over and helping me with the summary! <3 <3
> 
> And if you would, please wish [londonfoginacup](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/) a very happy birthday today!


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